“You mean other than find her daughter?” Kiley sighed.
“Yeah, other than that.”
Evan watched the electric blue front door of the police station until it swung open and Kiley exited, her steps seeming a bit lighter as she rushed from the brick building and across the rain-slick street. She climbed behind the Escalade’s steering wheel, bringing in a wave of humid air with her and tossing her backpack onto the back seat. Fatigue clung to her, and he felt her tiredness across the seat.
The investigation couldn’t stop, but they needed to get some sleep. Just a few hours. While they grabbed that much-needed rest, they could take comfort in the fact that many people would still be working the investigation. He just had to convince Kiley of that.
He buckled his seat belt and decided to ease into the topic. “Journals successfully delivered?”
“Lancaster was still working.” She cranked and gunned the engine, the roar splitting the quiet night. “And he was actually pretty civil when I expected him to still be mad about my not turning the other evidence in on time.”
Evan faced her. “Did he have any updates on the murder investigation?”
She pulled out of the parallel space and onto the deserted street. “He finished tracking down the questions on Firuzeh’s credit card and found nothing unusual. And he reviewed her social media. Nothing there either. Oh, and he got the CCTV files for the mall.”
“Let me guess. Nothing.” Evan hated sounding so negative, but since seeing the train blown to bits, he felt the horror that awaited them if they failed and wondered if they would ever catch a break.
“Exactly.” She stopped at a red light with high-rise buildings dotting the landscape, the lights reflecting off the damp city streets. “But that’s not surprising if we reallyarelooking for a trained sniper.”
Evan was glad his negative mood didn’t bring her down, as that was the last thing he wanted to do.
“So where to now?” he asked, easing into his subject.
She looked at her watch. “Our flight’s in less than four hours, and I’m beat. Figured we’d head over to my place to grab some sleep.”
And here he thought he would have to convince her of the need. “I don’t want to impose. Maybe you should drop me at a hotel.”
She looked over her shoulder and changed lanes. “With the price of D.C. hotels, that would be a big waste of resources for a few hours when I have a perfectly comfy couch I’m willing to share. Besides, we’ll just waste time looking for one. Time we could be sleeping.”
“Okay,” he replied and didn’t mind at all that he was about to see her apartment.
Something he probably shouldn’t be glad about, but he’d totally enjoyed spending time with her. Professional or personal, he liked being with her. But that would be short-lived. Come 9/11 or before, she would walk out of his life. He might not have any hope of a future with her, but he really did want to secure her forgiveness before they parted ways again.
Question was, what was it going take for her to forgive him? He knew forgiveness wasn’t even possible until he explained what had happened with Olin. “Now would be a good time to talk about Olin.”
She fired a sharp look at him, her eyes narrowed.
He didn’t let her reaction deter him. “We have time to kill. Talking would be easy.”
“Yeah,ifI wanted to talk.” Her fingers tightened on the wheel.
He hated making her tense, yet he needed to let her know how he felt. “Please hear me out. Talk if you want. Or don’t. Either way, I need to say my piece.”
Her focus remained on the road ahead, her fingers opening and closing tightly. “I’m listening.”
He opened his mouth to start, then suddenly thought better of having this discussion in a moving vehicle. He didn’t want to be looking at her profile when he bared his soul. He wanted to be facing her, reading her expressions. He obviously hadn’t chosen the time or place wisely.
Didn’t matter. He’d started the discussion and now needed to finish it.
“Well?” she prompted.
“You said I didn’t do my due diligence on the op,” he stated plainly and with no emotion, although the anguish of Olin’s loss was churning in his gut. “That I was too hungover.”
“Yeah. So?”
“I wasn’t hungover. The others went out the night before. Not me. I was up all night doing the due diligence you claimed I blew off.”
She glanced at him, her gaze digging deep—measuring, weighing. He felt the immensity of her search, but he wouldn’t stop now.
